


Mists of Time

by centaury_squill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-03 23:51:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/centaury_squill/pseuds/centaury_squill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mayhem seems to follow Harry Potter, no matter which department of the Ministry he works in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mists of Time

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 2012 Snarry Swap.

"Merlin's balls!" Ron thumped his fist on his desk, stared at Harry in disbelief. "You have _got_ to be joking."

Harry shrugged. "Nope. Kingsley told me himself. Snape's an Unspeakable."

"Unspeakable and unmentionable," Ron muttered. "Git."

Harry's answering grin was rueful. "Truer than you know, mate. Unmentionable is exactly right; we can't tell anybody about him."

"Woah, wait! I won't keep secrets from Hermione. We _are_ engaged, and she _was_ the one who gave him Dittany in the Shrieking –" 

"No, we _can't_ tell anybody," interrupted Harry. "It's a new jinx the Department of Mysteries invented. Now, Unspeakables really can't be, um, spoken about. To anybody outside the Ministry. Or anybody in it, really, without a good reason."

"No prizes for guessing which of 'em dreamed that one up," Ron said sourly. "So what's the _good reason_ " – he made quotation marks with his fingers – "why you're telling me?"

"You're not going to like this –"

Ron snorted.

"– but Kingsley thinks Snape's knowledge of the Dark Arts could be useful to us. He's made an appointment for us to go and talk to him." He got up from his desk, gave Ron an apologetic glance. "Er, now."

Harry was right: Ron didn't like it. He moaned all the way from their cubicle at Auror Headquarters, along the corridor, down in the lift, along another corridor. In fact he only shut up when they stood – rather apprehensively – outside the plain black door leading into the Department of Mysteries itself. 

The door stayed shut long enough for unwelcome memories of their last visit here to come into their heads. Harry's heart began to beat faster as he reflected on Sirius' disappearance behind the veil. Back then, he'd taken refuge in blaming Snape for goading Sirius into leaving Grimmauld Place that night. Now, older and more self-aware, he also blamed himself. After all, he'd been the one to be duped by Voldemort's tricks...

The door swung silently open. A house-elf wearing a Ministry issue tea towel stood beckoning to them. Harry and Ron followed him through the circular hall into a small room whose only furniture consisted of a long table with uncomfortable-looking wooden chairs drawn up around it.

"Please be sitting, Master Potter, Master Weasley," squeaked the elf. "Kammo is fetching Master Snape." And he promptly disappeared.

"Kammo?" snorted Ron. "What kind of a name's that?" He pulled a chair back from the table and sat down. The chair was too hard and upright to allow his usual sprawl, so he compromised by tilting it as far back as he could, balancing himself with his feet on the table.

Harry also sat. "Maybe even the house-elves are Unspeakables down here," he said, with a weak attempt at a grin.

Silence fell. Harry fidgeted in his chair, drummed his fingers on the table. Ron looked ostentatiously at his watch. Ten minutes dragged by before the door opened and Snape came into the room. He eyed Ron's scruffy trainers propped up on the table. His lip lifted in a sneer, but before he could speak, Harry hastily scrambled up, shoving Ron's feet off the table – nearly unbalancing him in the process – and held out his hand.

"Sir, I'd like to thank you for agreeing to help us."

Surprise warred with suspicion on Snape's face. He looked intently into Harry's eyes for a moment, before giving a faint nod and accepting his handshake.

"Goodness, Potter," he drawled, "unless your Occlumency skills have improved immeasurably in the past five years, I do believe you actually mean it."

Harry felt himself going red. He snatched his hand back, sat down again, stared fixedly at the table top. Ron glared at Snape.

"Well, _I_ don't see how you can help, hiding away in the Ministry basement all the time."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Don't you, Mr Weasley?" he murmured. "But then, you never were noted for your perspicacity, were you?"

He sat down at the table, taking a moment to savour Ron's expression of mixed bafflement and resentment, before leaning forward and saying briskly, "Fortunately, Kingsley Shacklebolt is more farsighted. He wishes me to give you the benefit of my... _expertise_. And the first thing I would suggest –" 

He paused for a moment, looking from one to the other. Ron scowled back; Harry still stared at the table top, refusing to meet his eyes. 

"– is that you allow me to place a sophisticated tracking spell on you both. One which will also alert you, and those tracking you, to the presence of Dark Magic."

Ron's scowl grew murderous. "And just who's going to be tracking us? You?"

"I have better things to do with my time than keep an eye on wet-behind-the-ears Aurors," spat back Snape. "It would be up to Kingsley Shacklebolt to decide who must undertake _that_ thankless task."

Ron looked at Harry. "What do you say, mate?"

Harry was staring at Snape's long, thin fingers, steepled before him on the table. Still refusing to meet Snape's eyes, he said slowly, "I think we should give it a try, Ron." 

"Very magnanimous of you, Mr Potter," sneered Snape. "Very well. Give me your hand."

Harry stretched his hand, palm upwards, across the table to Snape. Snape scrutinised it carefully before drawing his wand and tracing it along Harry's lifeline. Harry couldn't suppress a gasp as he felt a powerful spell wash over him. 

"You OK?" Ron asked anxiously.

"Yeah – yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit unexpected."

Snape frowned, passed his wand across Harry's hand again. "There. You have all the protection I can give you."

"I thought you said it was a tracking spell?" Ron objected.

Snape was looking a little distracted, but at Ron's comment the familiar sneer came back to his face. "A _sophisticated_ tracking spell, I said. I'm aware the concept of sophistication is unfamiliar to you." He gestured towards Ron with his wand. "Your turn."

"No thanks," Ron said. "Harry and I are partners. If we're out on a mission, Kingsley only needs to track one of us."

Snape got up from the table. "I'm not going to waste my time arguing with you about it," he said curtly. "Wait here. Kammo will show you the way out." And he swept out of the room, banging the door behind him.

Harry looked sideways at Ron. "Bit rude, weren't you, mate? He was only trying to help."

"You reckon?" Ron said darkly. "How do we know what sort of spell he was using?"

"Well – he said – to track us, detect the presence of Dark Magic, that sort of thing –"

"Oh come on, Harry, this is Snape we're talking about. For all we know, it could be a spell to _attract_ Dark Magic!"

"No," Harry said slowly, "it didn't _feel_ Dark..."

He and Ron were both deep in thought as Kammo led them back across the circular black hall before bowing them out of the Department of Mysteries. Outside in the corridor, Ron had the last word.

"Anyway, I still don't trust him. Was he REALLY on our side all along in the war? I'm not letting him put his so-called tracking spell on me. And you shouldn't have, either. You'll regret it, mate!"

*

But it was Ron who had cause for regret when, a week later, he and Harry followed a tip-off to a remote Cornish cottage where they hoped to find a former Death Eater in hiding. As they tiptoed cautiously up the path, wands drawn, concealed by Disillusionment charms, Harry's wand suddenly glowed purple, vibrating and feeling warm against his palm. He immediately ducked, shouting a warning to Ron, but it was too late: a spell shot sizzling from a small upstairs window and Ron dropped to his knees.

"Stupefy!" Harry shouted, pointing his wand at the window.

A scornful laugh and a barrage of Dark spells answered him, but by now Harry was flat on the ground, a Protego-raised shield around himself and Ron. The curses bounced harmlessly off the shield, but Harry could see that the one which had already struck Ron was having grim effect. His friend's freckles stood out starkly against his deathly-pale face, and he sprawled awkwardly on the path like a puppet with its strings cut.

With a crack of Apparation, Snape was suddenly beside them, furiously duelling their unseen assailant. Whether by accident or design Harry was never sure, but the thatched roof of the cottage was soon engulfed in flame. He started up, heading towards the cottage door, but Snape held him back.

"Don't trouble yourself. He'll have Apparated far away by now."

"If you're sure," Harry said doubtfully, then "Can you help Ron? He got hit the minute we arrived."

Snape knelt to examine Ron, his face grave. He made several passes over Ron's chest with his wand, all the while humming a spell. Harry was reminded of Draco Malfoy lying bleeding on the floor of the boys' bathroom at Hogwarts, and shuddered. At last Snape straightened up and said, "I've done all I can for now. He needs to go to St Mungo's as soon as possible."

"I'll Apparate him there," Harry said at once. As he wrapped his arms around Ron, preparing to visualise the Spell Damage ward at St Mungo's, a thought suddenly struck him.

"Didn't you say you wouldn't be tracking us yourself?" he blurted out, then, seeing the look on Snape's face he added, "Not that I'm complaining!" 

And hastily Apparated out.

*

The next week was an anxious time for Harry. He visited Ron at St Mungo's every day, but there was no change. Ron was still unconscious, still unmoving. He was expected to recover – the Healers said approvingly that the prompt counter-curse had made all the difference – but it could well take some time. Harry felt a bit uncomfortable being praised for Snape's action; he tried to give credit where it was due, but found that the Department of Mysteries' jinx wouldn't even let him do that. He had sent a note to Snape as soon as Ron was safely installed in the Spell Damage ward, thanking him for his intervention, and asking for details of the curse to be sent to St Mungo's, but hadn't had any reply.

So when, the following Monday morning, an aeroplane memo landed on his desk summoning him to a meeting with Snape, Harry's first thought was of his absent partner. He hurried down to Level Nine and was soon waiting outside the entrance to the Department of Mysteries. As before, the house-elf Kammo came to meet him, but this time he was taken to an untidy cubby-hole of an office, which Harry immediately suspected was Snape's own. The obscure slimy objects floating in jars on a shelf above the desk looked horribly like the ones Snape had in his office at Hogwarts. He was just examining a jar of pickled cockroaches (a dead ringer for the one Snape had once hurled at his head in rage) when he felt a prickling sensation in the back of his neck. Harry spun round, nearly dropping the jar, to see Snape staring at him with an odd look on his face.

"Oops, er, sorry," Harry mumbled, hastily returning the jar to its shelf. "So, is this about Ron?"

"Ron?" asked Snape, as if he'd never heard the name before. "Ah, Mr Weasley – no. Why would it be?"

"The curse? The one you stabilised?" Then, as Snape continued to stare at him as if he'd grown two heads, "Didn't you get my memo – St Mungo's need details of the curse so they can –"

"Oh, that," interrupted Snape, with an impatient wave of his hand, "Those details were sent on to them last week."

"Then why did you send for me?" Harry asked, at a loss. 

His confusion was made worse as Snape hesitated, seeming uncharacteristically embarrassed.

"Something has occurred," he said at last. "That is, there is a situation – a situation which –" He stopped.

They stared at each other for a long moment, then Snape turned abruptly on his heel and stalked out of his office. 

"Follow me," he snapped irritably over his shoulder to Harry. "The only way to explain is for you to see for yourself."

Bewildered, Harry followed Snape back to the circular hall with the many doors leading off it. Without hesitation Snape headed for one of the anonymous doors and led Harry into a room which seemed horribly familiar. It was full of the sound of ticking clocks, and brilliantly lit by a glittering bell jar containing an egg continuously hatching and unhatching. For a moment Harry was afraid that Snape was going to continue on into the Hall of Prophecy, but he passed that door without opening it and walked past more manifestations of Time gone wrong to another door, one so well concealed that Harry didn't notice it until Snape stopped and outlined it with his wand. Its smooth black surface had neither handle nor keyhole, and it seemed to merge into the wall around it. Snape tapped the door with his wand, murmuring a password; it slid silently into the wall, revealing a small, circular room. Harry followed Snape inside and the door slid closed behind them.

The whole room sparkled and crackled with immense magical power. At its very centre stood a stone basin, a bit like an enormous Pensieve, with swirls of greenish mist rising shimmering from it. Through the mist Harry could see the indistinct form of a teenage boy, who appeared to be standing in the basin. Beside him he heard Snape catch his breath as the mist cleared around the boy's head. He had rumpled black hair, a thin face, and startlingly green eyes, which were fixed eagerly on Harry. He smiled.

"Hello, Dad."

It was like looking in a mirror at an image of his former self, but without the glasses and lightning scar. There was even a red-and-gold Gryffindor school tie hanging loose and crooked around the boy's neck, exactly how Harry used to wear his. Harry caught himself reaching up to his own neck to straighten a tie which wasn't there, and hastily stuffed his hands into his pockets. He looked sideways at Snape.

"Explain."

Snape cleared his throat. "This –" he indicated the stone basin with a wave of his hand, "– has been in the Department of Mysteries since its inception. No one in living memory has seen it working, and we have only rumours and hearsay as to its use. One of my tasks here is to investigate its... possibilities."

"But what _is_ it?" Harry asked.

Snape sniffed. "Really, Potter, did you not take note of your surroundings on the way here?"

Harry felt obscurely reassured that Snape was back to his old, snarky self; he'd been behaving strangely ever since Harry had arrived in the Department of Mysteries. 

"Yes," he said evenly, "I've been this way before. There used to be a whole rack of Time-turners out there," and he waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the door, "but they all got, um, broken."

"Exactly," Snape said, "this entire division of the Department of Mysteries is concerned with... _Time_." 

He turned from Harry to the centre of the room, where the mist had again thickened, hiding its occupant from view, and added, almost under his breath, "And _this_ is the biggest mystery of all..."

He drew his wand and, pointing it at the column of swirling mist, murmured a singsong spell which made the hairs rise on the back of Harry's neck. The mist thinned, and green eyes once more appraised them.

"Tell us your name," Snape commanded.

"Most people call me Al," the boy said, "but my full name's Albus Severus Potter."

"Albus _Severus_!" exclaimed Harry, shooting a quick, puzzled glance at Snape.

"Yeah," said Al, "you told me – will tell me – that you named me after two Hogwarts headmasters, and one was a Slytherin and he was the bravest man you ever knew."

Harry couldn't help looking at Snape again, remembering his part in the war, the memories he'd given Harry when he'd thought he was dying. Snape was staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face. Harry, feeling himself going red, wrenched his eyes away and looked back at Al.

"So," he said slowly, "I _will_ tell you... you called me Dad... you're from the future? _My_ future? You're my... _son_?" 

He took a hesitant step forward and stretched out his arm towards Al, but Snape immediately seized his hand and stopped him from touching the teenager.

"Careful, Potter," he said softly. "The magic here is so strong, it might kill you."

Harry could feel the truth of this, huge waves of magical energy were sweeping over him from head to toe. Reluctantly he stepped back, his hand still in Snape's. He shivered. Surely it was the residue of the Time magic which was making his hand tingle? Which made him feel so bereft when Snape finally let him go? What else could it possibly be?

Resolutely putting these thoughts aside for later consideration, Harry began to bombard Al with questions.

"Why are you here? How did you travel through time? What year are you from?" And, what he'd been wondering ever since the boy had called him _Dad_ , "Who's your mother?"

The green mist swirled agitatedly about Al again, and even when it cleared his face seemed hazy, insubstantial.

"I can't tell you everything," he said, "in case the future gets changed the wrong way. But I'm here for a very important reason."

"What reason?"

Something Harry could only describe as a burst of interference interrupted Al; through it he thought he heard the words "Will rise to power, worse than Lord Vol –" before the mist rose up for the last time and then abruptly disappeared, leaving an empty stone basin standing alone in the middle of the floor.

*

Back in Snape's office, Harry was so shaken by his experience in the Time Room, as he'd privately named it, that he sat down in Snape's visitor's chair without waiting to be asked. Snape eyed him with disapproval but didn't comment, merely taking his own seat behind his desk.

Harry sat for a while, trying to collect his whirling thoughts. At last he said, "Do you think he's who he claims to be?"

"Your son?" asked Snape. "Yes, I don't think there's any doubt about that. Just seeing the two of you together, was..." he paused, then finished lamely, "... extraordinary." 

Harry had the distinct impression this wasn't what Snape had originally been going to say, but he played along. "The whole thing was extraordinary," he said. "Was he really there?"

Snape steepled his long fingers together on the desktop and regarded Harry over them. "Only in the sense that you are _really there_ when you enter a Pensieve memory," he said.

Reminded – as Snape had no doubt intended – of his illicit entry into Snape's youthful memories during those ill-starred Occlumency lessons, Harry felt himself going red.

"But you were able to touch me when you came into your memory to drag me out," he argued, absently rubbing his arm. "Whereas I couldn't touch – Al."

"I didn't say the analogy was exact," snapped Snape. "In any case, you and I were from the same point in the time stream on that occasion, whereas you and Albus Potter – are not."

Harry thought about this for a moment, then gave up. There were plenty of other questions he wanted to ask, where to start?

"Did he say much before you came to get me? Did he say who –" _my wife_ sounded alien, odd "– his mother is?"

Snape's eyes immediately acquired that empty-tunnel look which told Harry he was using Occlumency. He spoke slowly, weighing every word. "Since he is from the future, such things are not as fixed as is, say, a memory of the past."

Harry leaned forward. "So you're saying – what? There's more than one possibility?"

"Fascinating as your future love life undoubtedly will be," said Snape with a sneer, "I fear he had a more... momentous... reason for appearing to us."

"What, then? What _did_ he say to you?"

"Not a great deal," Snape admitted reluctantly. "He intimated that a great danger will arise which will threaten the Ministry itself, unless we take steps to prevent it. Then he insisted I fetch you; he said _Harry Potter and Severus Snape are the only people who can do this_."

"Do what?" Harry asked urgently. He was sure there must be more that Snape wasn't telling him.

Snape shrugged. His tone offhand, he said, "Safeguard the future, I suppose."

*

Harry sat beside Ron's bed, pouring out his troubles to his old friend in a way that he certainly wouldn't have if Ron had actually been conscious and able to hear him.

"He looks so like me, Ron, but it's hard to get my head around it, you know? To think sometime in the future, I'll marry, have kids... I just can't imagine it. If I'm honest, I don't really like girls all that much. Every time I've tried it's been a disaster."

He frowned, thinking back. Cho Chang, Ginny, Kingsley's secretary, Ginny again...

"Though I'd love to have a family – to be part of a REAL family, I mean. I can't really remember my own parents. It must be great to have kids, watch them growing up, give them all the things I never had –"

He broke off as the curtain round Ron's bed was twitched aside and Ginny walked in. Harry cringed inside. How much had she heard? Had he remembered to cast _Muffliato_ before spilling his heart out? He smiled at her weakly.

"Er, hi, Gin."

"Hallo, Harry."

She sat down next to him and took his hand in hers. "Any change?"

"Change – oh, you mean Ron. No. No change."

They sat silently, hand in hand, contemplating the still figure on the bed. Then Harry pulled his hand free, disguising the escape attempt it was by leaning forward and touching Ron's forehead.

"He doesn't have any fever," he said, not looking at Ginny. "And the Healers think he should make a full recovery."

"When, though?" Ginny sounded petulant. "He's been like this for over a week now."

"Don't be so impatient, Gin, he's in good hands here."

Harry didn't see the look Ginny shot at him. When she next spoke her voice was softer, coaxing. "I'm sure he is, Harry. Why don't we leave him for now and go out for lunch somewhere."

Harry stood up so quickly his chair nearly fell over. "Um, I'd love to sometime, Ginny, but not today. Lots on at the Ministry, 'specially with us being one short."

"Really?" Ginny pouted. "I'd have thought there was _less_ for you to do, with your partner being out of action."

Harry stooped, gave her a quick peck on the cheek. "No, Ginny. I can't today."

"OK," Ginny said, "Next week, then."

And from the gleam of determination in her eye, Harry had a horrible feeling that she'd hold him to that.

*

"Harry."

"Harry!"

"HARRY!!"

"Huh?" Harry looked up from his desk to see Kingsley Shacklebolt leaning over the low partition which divided Harry and Ron's cubicle from the corridor. "Sorry, sir. I was miles away."

"Evidently," Kingsley said, his smile part wry, part understanding. "No news of Ron, I take it?"

"Afraid not. I was at St Mungo's earlier. No change." Harry waved his hand over the chaos on his desk. "I'm just catching up on some paperwork."

Kingsley stroked his chin, regarding Harry thoughtfully. "You realise we can't send you out on any missions until Ron is fit – unless you're willing to be partnered with another Auror?" He nodded at Harry's grimace. "I thought not. Well, in that case, there is something else you might like to consider. I have had a request for you to be temporarily seconded to the Department of Mysteries."

Harry caught his breath. That request could only have come from Severus Snape. For a moment he was back beside him in the Time Room, both of them watching a green mist fume and swirl around a boy who claimed to be Harry's son.

Kingsley was regarding him keenly. 

"You know what this is about?"

Harry pursed his lips, raised his eyebrows, shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah... maybe... but..." he said, dragging his words out, hoping Kingsley would assume that the jinx was preventing him from being more explicit.

Kingsley sighed. "Sometimes I think they carry things just a little too far with their... mysteriousness." He smiled at Harry. "Still, it – whatever _it_ is – should keep you out of mischief until Ron is better." He brought his hand down on the cubicle partition with a thump, raised his eyebrows. "You'd better go down there right away."

As Harry began bundling the few personal belongings from his desk into his old school bag, his boss turned away and strode off between the cubicles towards his office. 

"Good luck, Harry," he murmured from the doorway, watching the young man leave.

*

Down in the Department of Mysteries, Harry found that Snape had allocated him a tiny office, even smaller than Snape's own. He dropped his bag onto the desk, ran his fingers through his hair.

"What am I supposed to do here, exactly?"

Snape gave him a withering look. "Wait, mainly."

" _Wait?_ What, like a tame Crup, or something?"

Snape looked as if he were mentally debating which of several sneering responses to make to this, but in the end he merely said, "Albus Potter has indicated that your presence facilitates his visits from the future. You are to wait for such visits to take place."

"And then what? And how will I know when he, um, feels like visiting?"

Snape closed his eyes for a moment with a _give me patience_ air. "It isn't a question of when he... _feels like visiting_ ," he said, with sarcastic emphasis, "Albus Potter's appearances require the use of extremely powerful magic from both sides of the temporal divide."

Harry stared at him. "You mean – someone from the Department of Mysteries is helping him? In the future? And you're helping in the present?"

"Astonishing, Potter," Snape murmured, "you almost seem to have grasped the concept."

"But how do you know when –"

"ENOUGH, Potter. Things will become clear as we proceed." Snape drew a deep breath. "First, we must establish a password for you. Come!"

He covered the short distance to the Time Room in a few swift strides. Harry lagged behind, his mind teeming with questions. When he arrived at the concealed door, Snape was already tracing its perimeter with his wand, which left a faint blue glow in its wake. He indicated that Harry should do the same, and the blue glow grew stronger as both their wands passed around the door.

"Now, say the password you wish to use to gain entry to this room. Choose carefully. It should be something nobody will be able to guess."

Harry stared at the blue glow outlining the door, his mind blank. Annoyed with himself, he gave his wand a little jiggle; a wavy line appeared in the air in front of him, undulating like a snake. Almost without thought, Harry hissed at it in Parseltongue, "Alesssshhkath ssstrathsshay," and the door immediately slid open.

He turned to Snape, who was staring at him, a peculiar look on his face. "What?"

"I didn't realise you could still speak Parseltongue," Snape said. 

He reached out his hand, just brushing Harry's fringe away from his forehead. Harry shivered as Snape's forefinger traced the jagged line of his lightning bolt scar.

"Strange..." Snape murmured. "I would have expected the ability to vanish when the Dark Lord's Horcrux was destroyed."

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, well. It's useful, sometimes."

"True," said Snape. "You have certainly created a password very few others could repeat."

He stepped inside the room, gesturing for Harry to follow him. "And now, I shall show you the spell to open the channels of Time."

*

Harry sat at his desk in his cramped, tiny office. He was bored. His secondment to the Department of Mysteries had begun well enough – Snape had showed him several useful spells, besides the ones connected with the Time Room and Albus Severus Potter's appearances. And the appearances themselves, few and irregular as they'd been, were exciting enough. A bit frightening, to be honest. He'd been glad that Snape was with him whenever Al appeared. Amazing at it seemed, he'd even started to enjoy working with Snape.

But for the past few days, Snape had seemed withdrawn, aloof. At one and the same time, he'd both insisted Harry stay in the Department of Mysteries _for his own safety_ , and yet had given him nothing to do there. Even Al's appearances seemed to have ceased – unless Snape was now keeping them secret. But why would he do that? Harry scowled, and rubbed his forehead. 

There was _one_ silver lining to the cloud of being shut up in here all day, Harry reflected. It made it a lot easier to avoid Ginny Weasley. He'd told her it would best if they were just friends, had even hinted he was beginning to think that he preferred men. He knew she didn't believe him, though, and who knew what the combination of her persistence and his longing for a family would lead him to do in a moment of weakness?

Harry sighed, ran his fingers impatiently through his hair. He _was_ bored. They seemed no further forward in discovering exactly why Al made his perilous journeys from the future, or what terrible catastrophe he was trying to avert. Maybe if he wrote down all the things Al _had_ said, he might hit upon something they'd missed. Harry pulled a piece of blank parchment towards him and picked up his self-inking quill. Frowning thoughtfully, he began to write.

Half an hour later, Harry stared at the list he'd just made. Al was obviously worried that a new Lord Voldemort would rise to power. And – those obscure warnings of his – could they possibly mean that the threat would come from within the Ministry of Magic itself? Maybe even from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement! Had Snape realised this, too? Maybe that was why he'd effectively isolated them down here, away from the rest of the Ministry. Harry jumped up, and headed for Snape's office, the parchment clutched in his hand.

But when he got there, it was to find the office empty. Snape was nowhere to be seen.

*

Rather apprehensively, Harry sealed himself inside the heavily-warded Time Room. He'd never attempted this on his own before, but he was worried about Snape. There was still no sign of him, and nobody in the department seemed to have any idea where he'd gone. Even Kammo the house-elf, who normally seemed to know everybody's business, couldn't explain what had happened to him: as far as Kammo knew, _Master Snape should be in Master Snape's office_. But he manifestly wasn't, and hadn't been all morning.

The room was eerily quiet, as though its black walls swallowed all sound from outside. Windowless, it was lit by subdued glowing balls floating at intervals around its circular perimeter. The large stone basin stood, empty and innocent-looking, at the very centre. Harry eyed it mistrustfully, gathering his courage. At last he took a deep breath, raised his wand, and pointed it at the basin; the alien syllables which Snape had taught him, which he would never be persuaded held no tinge of Dark Magic, spilled from his lips.

At first, nothing happened, and Harry found himself half-hoping that this was one of the many times when nothing would. But then an immense magical energy began to build up, its focus at the stone basin, although Harry could feel waves of it running through him even where he stood at the periphery. Crackling, tingling, flashing as if with lightning, an insubstantial form started to rise up from the basin. 

It was Albus Severus Potter, but Harry barely recognised him. He'd never seen him so distorted, seemingly torn apart by bursts of temporal magic. His green eyes met Harry's, full of mute appeal. The outline of his body shimmered and seemed in constant flux. Even his tie appeared to change, in a blur of colours rapidly alternating between the red-and-gold of Gryffindor and the green-and-silver of Slytherin. He flung his hand out towards Harry, made several attempts to speak. His voice, when it came, sounded like a badly-tuned radio in the Whispering Gallery of St Paul's, interrupted by bursts of static.

"Must – Snape – vital –"

A high-pitched whine rose to an almost intolerable level. Harry staggered back, his hands pressed to his ears. The figure in the basin thinned to nothing, solidified again. Harry took his hands away in time to hear Al shouting, his voice high and echoing, "Save Snape!"

There was a thunderclap and an outpouring of energy as a Time storm rocked the entire room, throwing Harry violently onto his back. The lighting orbs exploded in a shower of sparks, and a smell like burning metal filled the air. 

Darkness and silence slowly settled on the little room. Shakily, Harry groped for his wand, cast _Lumos_. The stone basin lay broken, in two blackened halves. Albus Severus Potter was gone.

*

Al's cry of _Save Snape_ was still ringing in Harry's ears as he searched Snape's office for some clue to his disappearance. He couldn't find anything as helpful as a calendar or appointments diary, and the Snape-hand on the wall clock merely pointed to an unhelpful _Away_.

The desk yielded nothing more useful than a scrap of parchment with a doodled sketch and a list of crossed out spells beside it. Harry held the parchment at arm's length and squinted at it, his head on one side, trying to make out the sketch. From one angle it looked like a pair of entwined snakes, from another, like two cocks rubbing energetically together. Harry hurriedly dropped the parchment back onto the desk, and turned his attention to the rest of the office.

Apart from the jars full of slimy objects he'd noticed on his first visit here, the shelves lining the walls also held piles of books. Harry crossed the room to examine them more closely. They seemed to be grouped into roughly three categories, and Harry was amused to see that Snape had colour-coded their spines: books on Dark Arts were, unsurprisingly, black; books dealing with Time Magic were green; and a third, smaller group, with titles like _Homo gravidus_ and _Magical Pregnancy in Wizards_ , were blue.

Curious, Harry pulled out _Homo gravidus_ , and a tattered paperback titled _Illustrated Gay Wizard Sex_ fell from its hiding place behind it, onto the floor. Harry instantly forgot about pregnant wizards, and picked it up. His eyes nearly popped out of his head as he leafed through it. Any doubt as to his own sexuality vanished with his reaction to what he saw. On every page young, fit, naked wizards, sometimes with each other, sometimes with older partners, sucked and fondled, panted and thrust. One who looked remarkably like Draco Malfoy glanced over his shoulder at Harry and gave him a cheeky wink before returning enthusiastically to what he was doing.

Harry's jeans were now feeling uncomfortably tight. He lowered his right hand to his zip; freed of its support, the paperback flopped open at a stained, much thumbed, obviously much visited page. Harry's mouth fell open when he saw what was on it. The kneeling young man giving a blow job looked remarkably like himself, green eyes, spare frame and all. Harry's eyes travelled to the recipient of his look-alike's attentions – dark robes, face hidden behind curtains of black hair, long fingers braced on either side of the young man's head.

"Grrrrgh!" Harry gasped, fingers delving frantically into his open fly. He pulled his cock out and, his mind filled with pictures of Severus Snape, began to fist himself. Suddenly he felt something warm and throbbing against his arse, which at first chimed in so well with his fantasy about Snape bending him over his desk that he took it for a sensory illusion. It wasn't until a whirring sound pulled his attention to the wall clock, where the Snape-hand was now pointing to _Mortal Peril_ , that Harry realised it wasn't, in fact, part of his fantasy, and pulled his wand from his back pocket.

The wand – warm, glowing purple, and vibrating in his hand – was behaving exactly as it had when he himself had been in danger and Snape had come to the aid of himself and Ron. Harry stared at it, his mind working furiously. Maybe, just maybe, Snape had made it a two-way spell? In which case, he ought to be able to Apparate to Snape's rescue, as Snape had Apparated to his. 

Harry thought back to the start of his secondment to the Department of Mysteries, when Snape, in an unusually helpful mood, had taught him about several new spells. Had Snape's tracking spell been among them? He frowned, absently tucking himself back into his jeans as he thought. Yes, he was sure it had been: Harry had never actually cast it himself, but if he was right about it being a two-way spell, that shouldn't matter. Now, what had Snape said about answering the alarm call put out by the spell? Ah, yes, that was it. Gripping his wand tightly, Harry murmured the remembered incantation.

The spell's effect was immediate. In a dizzying cross between Portkey and Apparation, Harry was snatched away from the Ministry of Magic to land in a totally unfamiliar room, where he tumbled to the floor at the feet of Severus Snape himself. Harry scrambled to his feet, spinning on the spot, wand out, looking for danger. All he could see, however, was a small unfurnished room, a sloping ceiling covered in cobwebs and a dirty window protected by iron bars.

"Good of you to drop in, Potter," Snape drawled. "A little too late to rescue me, but don't let that worry you."

Harry looked at him closely. Snape was a mess: hair dishevelled, face even paler than usual, outer robes missing and shirt torn open revealing a criss-cross of livid wheals.

"What the – ?"

"Brookmyre," Snape said wearily. "Apparently he decided to get his revenge."

"Ah," Harry said, with sudden comprehension. Brookmyre was the Death Eater who'd tried to kill Ron. "Come on, let's get you out of here."

Snape was shaking his head. "You're welcome to try," he said, "but I suspect Brookmyre's wards work on the lobster pot principle. You can get in, but you can't get out."

And sure enough, when Harry put his arm cautiously around Snape's waist and attempted Side-Along Apparation, nothing happened. 

They were trapped.

*

Harry and Snape sat side by side on the floor, backs leaning against the wall. Harry had discovered by trial and error that he was still able to perform some minor magic, and he'd done what he could to heal Snape's wounds.

"Where's Brookmyre now?" he asked, wondering whether an essentially harmless spell could be adapted to defend them against the Death Eater.

"Gone to boast to his nasty little friends," Snape replied. "I expect they'll all be here at nightfall to have their fun with us." He took a deep breath. "Harry, there's something I – "

But Harry's mind had gone off on a track of its own; he didn't even register that Snape had called him by his given name. "I thought of something, about Al," he blurted, "what he's been telling us – do you reckon this successor to Lord Voldemort is inside the Ministry itself? And –" a new idea suddenly struck him "– maybe he's in league with Brookmyre, and that's why we've never been able to catch him!"

He scooted round so he could see Snape's reaction to this brilliant idea. Snape was again shaking his head, his face sombre. He reached out his hand and put it on Harry's knee.

"Harry –" he started, and this time Harry _did_ register the use of his name, "– Harry, I'm sorry. I've thought and thought how to tell you this. At first I hoped I was wrong, but I'm afraid there's no doubt."

A cold feeling started to spread through Harry's stomach. "What are you trying to say?"

Snape went on, staring bleakly before him, "I've been researching solutions to the problem. I've been putting off telling you until I could find something you'd find acceptable, but –" his hand clenched convulsively over Harry's knee "– we've run out of time. There's every possibility the Death Eaters will try to kill you tonight, and if they do –"

Harry's whole body now seemed like ice. Through stiff lips he said hoarsely, "It's me, isn't it? _I'm_ the threat from within the Ministry that Al's been talking about. _I'm_ going to be –" he could hardly bear to speak the words "– the new Lord Voldemort."

It all made sense now: his continued ability to speak Parseltongue – that must have been what had alerted Snape in the first place – Snape's aloofness in recent days, his insistence on Harry staying in the Department of Mysteries at all times...

"So," Harry whispered, "if they do kill me – what will happen?"

Snape groaned. "It seems," he said reluctantly, "that while the Horcrux which inhabited you _was_ actually destroyed, it had been resident in you for so long that a tendril of Lord Voldemort's soul is still entwined with a tendril of yours. If this is still the case when you are on the point of death, the combined entity will become forever fused, with the Dark Lord in control."

"And then?"

"I do not know for sure," Snape replied. "It may take the form of a wraith for a while, as happened to the Dark Lord on the night he killed your parents. Or it may inhabit your body immediately and call upon the loyalty of the assembled Death Eaters to preserve it."

Harry's head sank onto his knees, his hair brushing against Snape's hand. "And you haven't been able to find a way to stop this happening?"

"I didn't say that. There _is_ a way, but I didn't think you'd find it acceptable. I've been trying to find an alternative, but – now it seems it's our only choice."

"What is it?"

"Sex magic."

*

Silence stretched between them. Then they both spoke at once.

"I knew you wouldn't want to, Harry, but it is –"

"What makes you think I wouldn't –"

"– the only way –"

"– want to, Severus?"

"And – wait, what did you say?"

Harry cleared his throat, looking bashfully at Snape. He suddenly felt much closer to the man, could see some of the conflict he was suffering. He lifted his hand and briefly touched Snape's cheek.

"I wouldn't mind at all."

Snape's eyes widened, searched Harry's. "But – I understood – you're all but engaged to Ginevra Weasley –"

Harry shook his head firmly. "No. Oh, _she'd_ like to think so. And I did have a bit of a boy-and-girl thing with her, back at Hogwarts. But..."

He leaned closer. "Recently, I've realised girls aren't my thing at all."

Snape groaned. "I wish I could be sure you meant it. Your willingness is an essential part of the magic."

"Do your Legilimency thing on me if you like," Harry offered. "I don't mind."

"I can't perform that spell reliably without my wand, and Brookmyre took that when he trapped me," Snape said, his face dark.

Harry frowned. "Then how will you do the sex magic? Use my wand?"

Snape looked a little uncomfortable. "No. For the spell I have in mind, the penis, not the wand, channels one's magic." His hand dropped reflexively to the front of his trousers as he added bitterly, "At least it would, if I could get it up."

Disconcerted, Harry snapped, "Sounds like _you're_ the one who's really unwilling."

"That isn't the case at all," Snape said stiffly. "But I am considerably older than you." He added, almost under his breath, "And I have many more inhibitions."

Realising how much it must have cost him to make this admission, Harry rubbed his hand reassuringly up and down Snape's thigh.

"Well, let's see what I can do to help."

He thought back to the stains on the well thumbed illustration in that book he'd found in Snape's office. If that was any guide, Snape certainly didn't suffer from any inhibitions in his fantasies. 

If that was any guide... ah, there was a thought. Maybe if he could recreate the scene... let's see, the young man in the picture had been naked...

"What are you doing?" Snape's voice sounded alarmed.

"Taking my clothes off, what's it look like," Harry mumbled into his T-shirt as he pulled it over his head, dislodging his glasses. He settled them back on his nose in time to catch Snape's hungry gaze fixed on his nipples. Harry grinned. Maybe this was going to work. 

He unzipped his jeans, slid his hand inside, gave his cock a few lingering tugs. It swelled obediently in his fist, so when he lowered jeans and boxers together he was able to display a creditable erection.

"See? Told you I was interested." 

Snape gave a low growl and slowly stood. Harry hurriedly finished undressing and knelt, completely naked, in front of him. At Snape's hoarse command he also removed his glasses and dropped them onto his pile of clothes. This was somehow the most exciting act of all; he now felt more naked than ever, utterly at Snape's mercy. He lowered his eyelashes flirtatiously, then raised them to fix his unfocussed green stare on the blur that was Snape's face. He heard a hissed indrawn breath, felt fingers come to rest in his hair.

Harry moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue and reared up, aiming for Snape's crotch. One of the hands left his head, he smelt Snape's arousal an instant before feeling a warm cock nudge into his mouth, then the hand was back, fisting into his hair, guiding his movements. Harry's head bobbed backwards and forwards as he sucked Snape's cock, which grew harder and fuller under his attentions, until he had to wrap a hand firmly around it to stop Snape from plunging it down his throat and choking him. Lost in the moment, Harry forgot the danger they were in. He even forgot the threat to his soul, he was so focussed on his own sexual excitement and the gasps and moans from Snape which enhanced it. He sped up his rhythm, sucked harder, and was utterly surprised when Snape pulled clear.

"Wh-what's wrong?"

Snape was breathing heavily, his hands clenching and unclenching spasmodically in Harry's hair. "Wait," he gasped. He sucked in air, his chest heaving. "We've – only – one – chance." His ragged breathing slowed, evened out. He dropped one hand from Harry's head and gripped himself tightly.

"I mustn't come too soon," he explained. "I might not recover in time. We must start the spell now, while I'm –" he glanced at the swollen purpled-headed penis in his hand, "– ready."

Harry swallowed. "OK," he said. "What do I have to do?"

"First, we must prepare you."

Under Snape's direction, Harry inserted the tip of his wand into his arsehole and repeated a lubrication spell. He wriggled delightedly at the sensation, and the break in Snape's voice which told him how alluring he must look. 

"Now," Snape said, trying and failing to maintain an aloof, lecturing tone, "you must lie back on the floor."

He picked up Harry's glasses and handed them to him. "Put these back on. It is essential we maintain eye contact throughout coitus."

Harry almost came at the way Snape said "Coitus." He obediently put on the glasses, raised his hips to allow Severus to push his pile of clothes under him, lifted his legs to rest on Snape's shoulders. Snape's bony fingers were surprisingly gentle as they stroked Harry's arse cheeks before probing inside his freshly-lubricated opening. 

_I'm being prepared for sex_ , Harry thought dazedly. _I'm being prepared for sex with Severus Snape._

Snape's fingers were still inside Harry as he continued his instructions. "Now –" he cleared his throat, went on huskily, "– you must speak to me in Parseltongue." He raised his other hand, angling it so Harry could see the Slytherin crest on the heavy silver signet ring he wore.

Eyes fixed on Slytherin's snake, Harry lisped out a hissing sentence.

"What did that mean?" demanded Snape.

"It meant: what do you want me to say," replied Harry in English, looking away from the snake and into Snape's eyes.

Snape's eyes darkened. "Say whatever comes to mind in the throes of passion," he murmured, giving the long fingers buried knuckle-deep in Harry's arse a sudden twist.

Harry gasped and began to babble urgently in Parseltongue.

Snape's thin lips lifted in a smile. He might not understand the words, but Harry's tone said _fuck me_ as clearly as if he shouted it in crude Anglo Saxon. He withdrew his fingers, lined up his cock, thrust slowly but inexorably home.

Harry gasped and his erect cock wilted. Despite the lubrication, despite all Snape's care, it hurt. With great effort Snape held himself still, murmured encouragement.

"It's OK," Harry jerked out. "Go on."

Snape gently stroked Harry's cock until he felt it begin to harden again under his fingers.

"My brave Gryffindor," he murmured. "Ready?"

Harry nodded. 

Snape raised his hand, flashed his Slytherin signet ring at Harry. "Speak in Parseltongue, maintain eye contact with me. I will take care of everything else."

Harry smiled trustingly. His eyes flickered over the ring and he began to hiss in the language of snakes even as his gaze travelled on and became fixed by Snape's dark stare.

_hashketh asshesspth, ss'ss..._

Snape's eyes became yet more intense, he half-sang, half-spoke an incantation as he pulled back, thrust forward, pulled back, thrust forward, slowly and deliberately, again and again.

_esspess osspass, ss'ss..._

Harry babbled frantically as his prostate was assaulted, his cock pulled, his Severus shouted out another spell.

_esspess osspass... ss'ss_

Severus Snape achieved sexual and magical climax simultaneously: Harry felt the spunk shoot up inside him, accompanied by an indescribable sensation which continued through Harry's entire body, setting off his own cock on the way and finally vanishing through the scar on his forehead.

_esspess... love you... Sev'rus..._

"Ahhhhh...."

Harry sprawled back on his scattered clothes, eyes closed, feeling completely boneless. A tickling sensation on his belly made him open his eyes and look down, to see Severus' dark hair swinging forward as he crouched over him. Severus carefully licked up the semen from Harry's belly before lifting his head and looking seriously into Harry's eyes.

"Just to be sure..."

He raised his hand, passed his signet ring from side to side in front of Harry's face. But the sight of the snake did nothing. Harry just repeated, "I love you, Severus."

Severus gave a long sigh, pulled Harry close, murmured into his hair.

"Thank God, it's done."

*

Fully dressed once more, Harry sat propped against the wall, knees drawn up, watching Severus pace. He patted the floor beside him.

"Come and sit down, you're making me dizzy."

Severus growled irritably, continued pacing.

"After all," Harry went on, his voice catching slightly despite his best effort, "you've done what you set out to do. If I'm killed now, there won't be another Lord Voldemort."

This caught Severus' attention. He swung round, strode over to Harry and stood looking down at him, his face furious. "I don't WANT you to be killed, you foolish brat. I want – I want –"

Harry reached up and caught hold of his hand. "What do you want, Severus?" he asked. "Tell me."

Severus sank down beside him with a groan. "To spend the rest of a very long life with you," he whispered.

Harry grinned. "Well, we'd better think of a way to get out of here, then."

Severus stared at him, uncertain. "Don't tell me that's what you want, too."

Harry looked back unblinkingly, nodded his head. "Of course I want to get out of here," he said, pausing for a teasing moment before adding, "AND I want to be with you."

Severus tugged off his heavy silver signet ring and held it between forefinger and thumb. "If you're sure – and we get out of this alive – will you bond with me?"

"I will," Harry said solemnly, with all the weight of a vow, and held out his hand for Severus to slide the ring onto his finger.

Then they sat side by side as the late afternoon light slowly faded from the little room, waiting for what was to come.

*

Magical klaxons sounded and warning lights lit up throughout Auror Headquarters. Kingsley Shacklebolt's magically amplified voice boomed out.

"HARRY POTTER IS IN MORTAL DANGER! DARK ATTACK! !"

Aurors immediately leaped from their desks, swarming around Kingsley. _Thank Merlin for Severus Snape and the subtleties of his tracking spell_ he thought, as he swiftly gave them their orders. One group was to come with him to Harry's current co-ordinates, a second was to deploy at a certain distance around those co-ordinates, a third was to monitor them from Auror HQ and provide further assistance as needed. 

Instructions completed, Kingsley beckoned his chosen cohorts to one side. Grim faced, wands at the ready, they stood in a circle around him as he spoke the words of Snape's spell.

They erupted into a chilling scene. Harry and Snape stood back to back, surrounded by jeering Death Eaters. From the look of them they'd already been subjected to more than one bout of _Crucio_ , but both faced their tormentors defiantly. Harry's wand lay, still glowing a lurid purple, in a corner of the room.

Kingsley instantly had his wand at the throat of the obvious ringleader. "Surrender, or it'll be the worse for you!" he snarled.

Brookmyre sneered back at him. "Your wands won't work here, you pitiful shits."

Kingsley's laugh rumbled deep in his throat. "Want to bet your life on that? Take a look out of the window."

At Brookmyre's nod, one of his cronies peered between the iron bars protecting the window. His face went pale.

"There's a whole bunch more of them out there – looks like they've got the place surrounded."

"And they know more about wands and wards than you ever will," Kingsley said contemptuously. "I think you'll find it's your spells which won't work, now."

Shouting in frustration, Brookmyre lashed out at Kingsley, rocking him back on his heels.

" _Avada Kedavra!_ " he screamed, his wand pointing straight at Harry.

Kingsley let out a relieved breath as Brookmyre's spell failed. He jabbed his own wand into the Death Eater's throat. "Want to see if it'll work for me?" Then, as wands clattered to the floor all around him, "Always knew you were a bunch of cowards."

*

"Kingsley's just told me Ron's better," Harry said, "so I should be going back to Auror HQ in a week or two."

He sat in Severus' visitor's chair, smiling across the desk at his fiancé.

Severus glared back at him. "Just as well," he growled, "as your secondment to the Department of Mysteries resulted in the destruction of a priceless magical artefact."

Harry only laughed. "I'm glad that's not all it resulted in," he said, with a meaningful glance at the silver ring on his finger. Then he sighed.

"Having second thoughts?" Severus asked. 

"About us? No, of course not. I am upset, though. I won't see Albus Severus again."

A small smirk twisted Severus' lips. His eyes fixed on the blue book spines on the shelf behind Harry, he said softly, "I wouldn't be so sure about that..."

-end-


End file.
